


The Sexual Education of Frank Iero

by cholera



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Barebacking, F/M, M/M, Mild Language, Rimming, Threesome - F/M/M, dildo, historical handwaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-07
Updated: 2011-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-25 19:44:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cholera/pseuds/cholera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Iero left Georgia young and has been traveling the country, learning all that he can about getting by in the world around him. In Boulder, Colorado, he meets a whore who teaches him just what he needs. Old West AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sexual Education of Frank Iero

**Author's Note:**

> Written on a whim for [elf_skitzo](http://elf_skitzo.livejournal.com)! Many thanks to [vamm_goda](http://vamm_goda.livejournal.com) for the beta and the invaluable encouragement. <3 you! Approx. 7,100 words.

Boulder was beautiful country, Frank thought. Not Georgia — too cold to be Georgia — but the mountains and the pine were beautiful to see, and the crisp, clean air smelled and tasted lovely. He sipped some brandy from his flask for warmth, then tucked it away. The saloon at his back was calling to him.

He’d been young when he’d left Georgia. The sheriff hadn’t looked too kindly on Frank’s reaction to being held at gunpoint. He’d celebrated his sixteenth birthday in New York, where he’d learned how to be a poised, refined gentleman. That was not to say that he hadn’t learned that all in Georgia — he _was_ a southern gent, after all — but New York had higher standards that he’d appreciated and kept to. He’d celebrated his eighteenth birthday in California, after a leisurely trip across the country, learning how to gamble and shoot as he went.

Now, he was in Boulder, Colorado, enjoying the air and the company. He gambled a bit here and there, but for the most part he watched the people. He’d already had one spat with a Mr. Buchanan over a game of poker, but there were no lingering hard feelings there. Mr. Buchanan was fond of the ‘dancing girls’ in the saloon he frequented, and for a week, now, he’d been cajoling Frank into buying one of them for the night. Frank, personally, didn’t believe in buying anyone for any amount of time.

“What’s the matter, Iero?” Buchanan slurred. While Frank had been out enjoying the sunset, Buchanan had remained inside, drinking — and losing at faro. It’d put him in quite the foul temper, and this he turned on Frank. “Your willy don’t get hard at the sight of a pretty girl?”

Frank’s lips curled into a tiny smile. “I didn’t say that,” he replied. “I believe in showing a woman more respect than that, Mr. Buchanan. At any rate,” he added, smile widening slightly, “I don’t need to pay for it like some men do.”

Buchanan glared at him. “I don’t gotta pay, neither!” he growled. He paused, composed himself, then said, “You prob’ly don’t know where to stick it, anyway.”

Frank sighed. He knew if he didn’t respond, Buchanan would think he was right, but he didn’t feel like arguing, either. He drained his tumbler of scotch and stood. Jamia, one of the ‘dancing girls,’ was leaning on the bar in her fine dress, looking out on the room to see if any were interested. Frank wasn’t a particularly large man. He’d been sickly as a child, and so was the smallest man he knew. Jamia was only an inch or two shorter than him, and she didn’t wear the heeled boots that most dancing girls did. She wore silk slippers, instead. She was busty and curvy, with a pretty face and kindly eyes, and Frank was sure that if any woman would ever arouse him, she would be the one to do it.

He politely asked for a moment of her time, and although she smiled, she played along with his graciousness and offered her hand.

There were rooms above the saloon for just this purpose, and she led him up the stairs with a finger looped around his scarf. Her room was dimly lit with an oil lantern on a dresser. A wash area was in one corner, with a wooden privacy screen set up. A towel draped over the top of it.

“Well, Sir,” she said, calling his attention back to him. “Shall we get started?”

Frank looked her over, then nodded. She stepped closer and loosened his tie. He shrugged out of his coat and unbuckled his gun holster. She worked on his waistcoat, and she pushed both down over his shoulders for him. Then she tugged his shirt from his trousers and helped him pull it off.

“Well, well,” she said, looking over his smooth, lightly muscled torso. “Not a hair on you. Just how old are you, anyway?”

“Old enough,” he said. He smiled a little and looked down. “Almost nineteen.”

“You’re so smooth and clean, I’d think you’re not even fifteen,” she said. She ran her fingers down his chest and to his trousers. She unclasped the waistband and slid her hand inside. “Least you ain’t hairless down here,” she teased. He blushed a little. Her hand was small and smooth against his skin, not a single callus on her palm. It was disappointing enough that he didn’t swell in her hand, and she looked down at him. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “It broken?”

Frank looked down again, and this time he looked ashamed.

“I fear I may have led you here under false pretenses, Miss Nestor,” he confessed. “You see, while I find you delightful to look at, I’m afraid it isn’t a woman’s body I dream about at night.”

Jamia watched him, then smiled gently. “You ain’t ever been with a woman, have you,” she said. It certainly wasn’t a question, so Frank only shook his head. “You ever been with a man?” He shook his head again. “You ever been with anyone?”

“No,” he admitted softly.

“Well, tonight’s your lucky night, Mr. Iero. It just so happens I know just how to treat men like you.”

She turned them around and pushed on his shoulders until he sat on the bed. Then she sauntered over to the dresser and opened the top left drawer. After rifling through the satin lingerie, she pulled out a glass vial and a polished wooden—

“Oh.” Frank’s eyes widened when he realized she was holding a wooden replica of a nicely sculpted, well, dick. She smiled over at him.

“I use this before fucking men with a particularly big pecker,” she said. “Don’t need no injuries, if you get my meaning.” He thought perhaps he did. She walked back over, waving it in front of her. “I also use it when I come across a few men like yourself, who only get their jollies with other men.” She smiled when she stopped in front of him. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I wash it regular-like.”

Frank looked up at her, swallowing hard. “And where is that meant to go?”

She smirked. “Anywhere I want it to go, Darlin’.”

Jamia straddled his lap, remaining up on her knees. She ran the head of the dildo against his lips, and he blushed a little at how lewd it felt. It was cool and polished against his skin.

“Now, the thing you oughta know about men is, all they care about is fuckin’.” She used her free hand to tug his mouth open, thumb on his chin. “You find a man’s aggressive enough, he’ll just shove his pecker right in that pretty mouth’a yours, and you ain’t allowed to bite down or choke or nothin’.” She slid the dildo into his mouth slowly, though. “I reckon this don’t taste wonderful,” (It certainly didn’t.) “but it’s just to teach you a thing or two.”

Frank thought he’d choke now, the way it filled his mouth. Under Jamia’s tutelage, though, he learned how to breathe through his nose, nice and steady, learned how to use his tongue against it. She eased it so far back he felt it bump his throat, and he made a tiny sound and instinctively swallowed around the head. His eyes watered — but his dick pulsed. Jamia smirked down at him.

“Just you wait ‘til I find a willing man for you, Mr. Iero,” she murmured.

She slid the dildo from his mouth. It released from his lips with a slick pop. Frank had to rub his jaw for a moment. Jamia let him recover from that little experience, but then she eased off the bed and stripped until she was just in her corset and underskirt. She guided him back further on the bed and told him to strip out of his trousers. Once he had, she tossed the little glass vial to him.

“This is the most important part of being with a man, Mr. Iero,” she said. “You ain’t like a lady, where your parts just slick right up at the sight of a pretty pecker. This’ll make sure you don’t get tore up.”

He picked up the vial and looked at it. She encouraged him to uncork it, so he did, and sniffed the contents. It smelled like mineral oil, and when he said as such, she said,

“That’s what it is.” She climbed back on the bed. “Here, roll on over, get up on your knees.”

He stared at her. “Beg pardon?”

She shrugged. “Roll on over, get up on your knees. Show me that tight little ass’a yours.”

Frank blushed brightly, but did as he was told. “You’re not like any woman I’ve ever met, Miss Nestor.”

“No, I ain’t,” she said proudly. She smoothed her hand over the swell of one cheek, then smacked it lightly.

“Hey!”

She giggled. “Relax. A girl’s gotta have her fun.” She took the vial back from him, but corked it and set it aside. Then she gripped his cheeks with both hands, parted them, and flicked her tongue against his hole.

Frank gasped at the first touch. That wasn’t the dildo, he knew that immediately. It was far too warm and wet. When her tongue returned, it stayed. She massaged at his hole with it, flicked just inside and lapped over him. He felt his dick twitch, and moaned at the sensation. He’d toyed with the idea of touching himself, knew from boisterous men that women sometimes let men fuck them in that hole, but he’d never actually felt it before. As her tongue worked over him, it felt as though every nerve ending was on fire. It sent bolts of pleasure straight to his cock, and soon enough he was moaning with every breath, writhing closer. This was _amazing_!

Just when he was sure he was going to come, she stopped. He mewled. She giggled, and she was still close enough that her breath washed against his skin. He pressed back towards her, silently begging for more. But she pulled away, hands leaving him.

“But—” he tried. “But—”

“Now, now, you just relax there, Mr. Iero,” she cooed. “I ain’t gonna leave you hangin’, promise.”

Soon enough, her mouth was replaced by her slicked fingers. He’d nearly forgotten about the oil vial. The first slid in easily, and she thrust it into him in a steady rhythm. Frank pressed his face into the pillow. His fingers clenched in the bedding when she added a second finger. The slow burn of the stretch felt at once intense and divine, and sent him babbling. Jamia chuckled above him. He couldn’t even work up an ounce of indignation.

She did something, then, something with her fingers that had sparks bursting behind his eyes. Frank let out a ragged cry and his entire body jerked. It was only her hand around his dick that kept him from coming then and there, but she obviously wasn’t done with him just yet; she continued to work those two fingers inside of him. He whimpered beneath her. Jamia made a sound above him.

“ _You_ ain’t like any man I ever met, Mr. Iero,” she murmured.

He thought he was losing his mind when she added a third. She stretched him wide with her fingers, licked around them with that sinful tongue.

“Now, I want you to breathe, and calm down a touch, Mr. Iero,” she said.

Frank felt suddenly empty when she drew back. He swallowed and took her advice, though. Breathing was good. He felt hot all over, and his hair had sweated out the fine grease he used to slick it back. He rolled over, onto his back, to try to get some air, but everything felt humid and close. He glanced at Jamia; her petticoat was lifted and her hand disappeared under it. Frank could guess what she was doing, and he swallowed a little at the idea that she was doing it because of _him_.

“D’you feel like you’re about to burst?”

Frank considered this, then shook his head. She smiled and held up the dildo.

“Excellent!”

Frank stared. “Wait, that’s—”

“Goin’ up your ass, yep!”

Even as he wondered if it would even _fit_ , his dick pulsed at the idea of being filled and stretched again. She smiled and slicked the glossy wood with more oil from the vial. Then she spread his legs for him and pressed the head of it against his hole.

The stretch was wider this time, the burn slower, but even that sent pleasure through him. He pressed his head back into her pillow, spine arching. It pressed him down against the dildo, and he moaned at the feel. Only once he’d taken it fully, though, did she start to thrust it shallowly inside him. It warmed quickly with his own body heat. Frank bit his lip to keep from growing too loud.

She worked him to orgasm this time. Each thrust of her hand brought the head of the dildo in firm contact with that spot inside him, the one she’d found with her fingers. He came with a shout, then sagged against the mattress and tried to catch his breath. Distantly, he heard her mewl. He glanced over and saw her shivering, hand between her legs again. He swallowed.

“That,” he managed after a moment, “was . . .” He paused, then chuckled breathlessly. “There’re no words, Miss Nestor.”

Jamia just grinned over at him.

*

Frank visited Jamia regularly after that. At times they simply sat talking, and although Frank enjoyed her company and the things she had to say, he made an effort not to take away from her job, too. She deserved the right to make an honest living, after all.

Needless to say, Buchanan’s plans to make Frank feel like less than a man had backfired. It showed on his face that he knew, but Frank paid it no mind. Tonight, he’d set out to enjoy his cards and his scotch. Jamia’s friend and fellow prostitute, Lindsey, was providing live entertainment in the form of song and dance while a young man played on the piano. He took turns watching and playing, and joined everyone in looking towards the doors of the saloon when they swung open and a group of boisterous men pushed their way in.

They were dusty from the range, and wore hats and chaps and they looked tired but ready for some fun. Frank had come across cowboys in the Midwest, but he’d been younger, then. He’d made a sound effort to stay out of their way. These men didn’t look like the dangerous, gun-slinging criminals he’d heard about in the stories regaled to him on the trail heading west, but Frank didn’t want to press his luck. He’d learned how to take care of himself, but he was still small — and compared to these men, he was downright _dainty_.

One of the men looked directly at him then. Frank realized he’d been caught staring. For a moment, he froze, uncertain. But the man watching him didn’t look upset or disgusted. In fact, he looked amused. His lips quirked into a smirk, and his right eyebrow lifted, as if to say ‘Like what you see?’

Whether or not that was what he was actually asking, the answer was simple: Frank did.

Just the same, he offered only a polite tilt of his head, then turned back to his scotch and his cards.

He couldn’t help surreptitiously watching the man, though. His head was nearly clean-shaven; he was broad-shouldered — from hard work on the range, no doubt — and his hands looked strong and rough-skinned. Frank crossed one leg over the other to hide his, ahem, growing interest. Of the many stories he’d heard, the ones that had struck him the most were the too-vague tales of cowboys all but destroying the men who preferred the company of other men. At the time, Frank had been sure those he’d traveled with knew he could be counted among those sorts, and were threatening him. Over time, he’d determined that they were just trying to scare the wide-eyed little boy for a laugh. That didn’t mean he would take the risk now, though. Frank was quite fond of his life.

He noticed Jamia speaking to the man, and they went off together. Frank drained his scotch and focused more on the game at hand instead of on handsome cattle drivers.

Twenty minutes later, he was fifty dollars richer and two tumblers of scotch warmer when Jamia came up behind him, slid her hands over his shoulders and down his chest, and leaned her lips against his jaw.

“C’mon, Frankie,” she purred. “Put those cards down; I’m gettin’ lonely up there.”

His lips curled into a smile. He tilted his head so he could see her, then feigned a sigh.

“Gentleman, if you’ll excuse me,” he said. “It appears a more interesting proposition has just arisen.”

They rolled their eyes at him, but nobody fussed. Frank stood, then took Jamia’s hand and let her lead him up the stairs and into her room. The path had become familiar, and already Frank’s dick was stirring in anticipation.

Jamia opened the door and led the way into her room. Frank paused as soon as he stepped through the doorway. The cowboy he’d eyed in the saloon sat comfortably on the bed opposite him, with just a cotton towel around his waist after his bath. Frank had nearly forgotten about him, and had completely forgotten that Jamia had only just brought him up here not half an hour ago. The man was looking at him now, looking him over the way Jamia had the first night they’d met — the way Frank had wanted to when he’d first walked through those swinging doors. Jamia squeezed Frank’s hand reassuringly.

“Frankie, this here’s Mr. Mike Pedicone,” she said. She sidled closer to Frank’s side and kissed his cheek. “He’ll treat you right,” she whispered. “Promise.”

Frank finally tore his eyes away from Pedicone and looked at Jamia instead. It was easier; Pedicone had an intense gaze that made Frank feel at once vulnerable and too warm. Jamia’s eyes were open and affectionate. He trusted her and knew she would take care of him. He considered her a good friend, and thought that if things were different, he would have married her.

His fondness and his trust must have shown in his face, because she smiled and kissed the corner of his mouth, then held her hand out to Pedicone.

“Mike, this is Mr. Frank Iero,” she said. Pedicone pushed himself off the edge of the bed and stepped forward.

“Well, Mr. Frank Iero,” he said. His voice was smoother than Frank had thought it would be, not as deep, but pleasant. “Good to meet you.”

Frank swallowed, looking up at him. “It’s good to meet you,” he echoed softly.

Pedicone smiled again, then reached up and pushed Frank’s suit coat off his shoulders. Jamia stepped up behind him and pulled it down his arms. She knew Frank prided himself in his pressed, clean appearance. She draped his coat over the chair by the dresser. Pedicone unbuckled Frank’s gun holster and pushed that over his shoulders, too. It joined his coat. Frank swallowed as he watched Pedicone work. He remained focused on his task, loosening Frank’s tie, but he smiled at the silk of Frank’s waistcoat.

“So fancy,” he murmured. “Where’re you from, Iero?”

Frank swallowed again. He could feel the heat of Pedicone’s hands through his clothes as his buttons were undone one at a time.

“Georgia,” he breathed at last.

“Mm,” Pedicone replied. “I hear it’s very green there.”

He licked his lips as he pushed first Frank’s waistcoat, then his suspenders, off his shoulders. Frank’s eyes tracked the movement of Pedicone’s tongue. He was still watching Pedicone’s mouth when the man smiled.

“You’re a man’a few words, Iero,” he noted. Frank forced himself to meet his eyes.

“I find myself quite speechless,” he admitted. Pedicone chuckled.

“He’s charmin’, Jamia.”

Frank had almost forgotten she was there. He wasn’t sure how: like Pedicone seemed to be, Jamia was a force to be reckoned with, worldly in ways Frank only dreamed he could be. His stomach jumped and tensed when her hands smoothed around his middle. She pulled his shirt from his trousers.

“Didn’t I tell you?” she asked. “Frankie here’s one’a my favorites. He’s been so good to me, Mike.”

Her hands smoothed down the outsides of Frank’s legs, down and down, and he distantly heard her skirts rustle as she lowered to her knees. Frank’s arms shot up to grip Pedicone’s shoulders when she lifted one of his feet to tug his boot off for him. Pedicone smirked.

“That’s real good to hear,” he said. “I reckon me and you might just get along, Iero.”

Frank watched him for a moment, then shook his head.

“Not if you keep calling me Iero,” he said. It took every ounce of his poker skill to maintain the cool, confident exterior he wanted, but the look of pleased surprise on Pedicone’s face was enough of a reward.

“What else am I gonna call you?”

“My name,” Frank supplied. “Frank. Seems only appropriate, seeing as you’re about to be fucking my mouth.”

Pedicone’s eyes darkened, and Frank knew he’d pulled it off. He may not have had much experience, but he could feign it. As soon as Jamia was out of the way, Pedicone shoved him back. The grip on Frank’s arms was a tight one, and as Frank’s back collided with the wall, he let out a quiet ‘Ah!’ of surprise. It was exciting, the reminder that Pedicone was bigger and stronger — the contrast of his gentle touch with his underlying strength. If he wanted, he could likely break Frank in two. And yet he cradled his jaw now as if he were a precious item.

He ran his thumb over Frank’s lower lip. Frank flicked his tongue out, tasting his skin and feeling the rough pad. Pedicone thrust his thumb into Frank’s mouth slowly. Frank moaned. It was as arousing to be used like this as it was to watch Pedicone watch him. He kept his eyes on Pedicone’s as he sucked lightly, tongue pressing against him and swirling against the whorls of his print.

Pedicone made a sound that shot right through Frank, and at the light pressure on his shoulder, he lowered himself to his knees.

Pedicone’s dick pressed hot and hard against the cotton of the towel. Frank leaned forward to nuzzle him. Pedicone tangled his hand into Frank’s hair and rolled his hips closer. Frank closed his eyes and let him rut against his face for a moment. Then he reached up and tugged the towel away. It pooled around Pedicone’s feet, and the damp corners landed on Frank’s knees; Frank was too busy taking in the sight of his erection to really notice or care.

“You just gonna stare at it?” Pedicone asked. There was a teasing lilt in his voice, and Frank looked up at him.

“It’s awfully pretty,” he shot back, eyebrows raised innocently. Pedicone smirked and growled out a little laugh, but his fingers tightened in Frank’s hair and tugged him closer.

It was different, like this. Jamia obviously didn’t have a dick of her own, other than her dildo, and she’d done her best to teach Frank. She’d used her mouth on him to teach him what felt good, used her fingers in his mouth to make sure he knew what to do. But Pedicone was bigger than her dildo, bigger than three of her fingers. He smelled musky, clean but male and vital.

Frank liked it.

He nuzzled him again, skin to skin this time. He flicked his tongue out to catch a taste, then licked up the length and pulled the head into his mouth. Pedicone let out a sound at the initial contact. His fingers tightened in Frank’s hair, but he didn’t yank him closer, like Jamia said some men did. He just looked down, watched Frank’s lips stretch over his dick. Frank hollowed his cheeks out, sucking hard, and was rewarded with a long, low groan. He worked Pedicone’s dick with his mouth for a few moments. When Jamia guided his right hand up, he wrapped his fingers around the difference and pumped in time with his mouth.

“Fuckin’ goddamn,” Pedicone breathed. “Jamia, you taught him good, Darlin’.”

Frank was sure Pedicone was just being charitable, or maybe he wasn’t often sucked — Frank couldn’t imagine that being out on the range lent itself to homosexual trysts. Or maybe he was used to those even less experienced than himself. He just knew that Pedicone tasted good, heavy on his tongue and so much better than the wooden phallus. At the first taste of precome, Frank moaned. It was slightly bitter, musky in the same way his skin was, but stronger. Pedicone gasped sharply at the vibrations coming from Frank’s mouth and thrust deep into his mouth. Frank sucked in a breath through his nose and tried not to choke.

“Easy, Mike,” Jamia murmured from somewhere nearby. “He’s still learnin’, y’know.”

“Sorry, Frank,” Pedicone gasped. He combed his fingers through Frank’s hair, reassuringly, apologetically. “You got yourself a sweet mouth.”

Frank hummed around him, and in response, Pedicone found a slow but deep rhythm. With each thrust, he let Frank get accustomed to the feel of the head of his dick in his throat. When Frank looked up to see his face, he could see Pedicone’s stomach muscles trembling with the effort to hold back. Frank was grateful. He moved his hand and bobbed his head, pulling him in deep and sucking hard as he did. Pedicone groaned above him.

Abruptly, he pushed Frank’s head back and rubbed the head of his dick over his lips. Frank could feel the precome smear on his skin, and he flicked his tongue out to clean it off — to taste it again. He tongued the slit sort of accidentally. Pedicone’s reaction was enough to spur him to do it again.

“Much as I hate givin’ up your mouth, maybe we can move this to the bed and I’ll fuck your ass, instead,” he said. “I bet it’s good and tight.”

Frank trembled at the idea. His jaw ached, and he could imagine that the stretch of Pedicone inside him would be stronger down there, but he longed for it, longed to be touched and teased and fucked, to be filled. His pupils were blown wide with arousal, nearly hiding the bright hazel irises, as he looked up at him. Pedicone could plainly see his interest.

“He likes to be fucked, Mike,” Jamia confided. “He likes it when I get him ready and fuck him with my toy. I bet he’ll like it even more when it’s you.”

Her voice sounded like a purr, needy and husky. Frank could bet she was touching herself, but he didn’t want to look. He didn’t ever want to look away from the dark, lustful look on Pedicone’s face — the look he knew he put there.

Pedicone grabbed him by the shoulders of his shirt and tugged. Frank stood easily, and Pedicone slid his shirt up his body. He tossed it aside, baring Frank’s slim, pale torso to his scrutiny.

He looked as though he liked the view.

“You ain’t as scrawny as I was thinking you’d be,” Pedicone said, not unkindly. Frank still blushed a little.

“I think I’m quite small enough, don’t you?” he asked. “I should at least attempt to make up the difference.”

Frank’s musculature was not showy, nor was it as bulky as Pedicone’s. He consisted of wiry muscle that he worked at in the privacy of his own bedroom — wherever that bedroom may be. He wanted to be strong to make up for his slighter frame. Perhaps if he’d worked hard on the range like Pedicone had, he might have a bit more to him, but he was a small man, he had no illusions about that. Too much muscle would only look comical. Not like Pedicone, who looked like he was built to carry it.

Pedicone chuckled and cupped the back of his neck.

“ ‘Quite small enough,’ ” he echoed. “Listen to you.” He looked Frank over, a slow move that had Frank reaching down to adjust himself in his trousers. “You ain’t too small, though. In fact, I reckon you’re just the right size for me to bend over.”

Frank swallowed, looking up at him. “Then perhaps you should commence, Sir,” he murmured.

Pedicone nodded, but didn’t move for a moment. Frank realized he was taking in the sight of him. He tried not to shift in place nervously. Fidgeting was unbecoming of a gentleman, he reminded himself.

There was a chuckle from the corner, and Pedicone grinned at the sound, even as Jamia said, “I know he’s a pretty picture, but would you mind gettin’ a move on? I got other boys waitin’ on me.”

Frank looked over at her and grinned. “Ever the charmer, Miss Nestor,” he teased. She grinned back. She was seated on a simple wooden chair, dress on the floor and petticoat hiked up about her waist. One leg was drawn up, and Frank knew exactly what she’d been doing. She gestured with one slick finger between the two of them.

“You two put on quite the show,” she said. She sounded pleased. “Do proceed.”

Pedicone smirked at her. He hooked his hand around the back of Frank’s neck and tugged him closer.

“Best do as she says,” he advised. “Wouldn’t wanna be on her bad side.”

Frank giggled in a most unseemly fashion, partly because he couldn’t imagine being on Jamia’s bad side and partly because he didn’t want to try. He blushed a little at the sound of his own laugh; he’d been working to control that since he was a boy. It was a testament to how comfortable and secure he felt with Jamia and any she said she trusted that it slipped out now.

Pedicone smiled brightly, though. He didn’t tease Frank the way some boys used to. He tugged him closer by the grip on his neck and kissed him.

Frank had never been kissed before. Not on the lips, anyway. Jamia had kissed his cheek and his forehead, and his mother had kissed his hair, and once, a flirtatious girl in New York had kissed the back of his hand, as if she were the man and he were the girl. But he’d never been kissed the way Pedicone was kissing him: like his mouth was the most delicious thing in the world, like Pedicone needed Frank to breathe; with teeth and tongue and short, needy sounds gasped out every time their lips parted. Frank had to hold onto Pedicone’s shoulders, because it felt as though his legs had melted away below the knees.

He wasn’t even sure if he was kissing back. He was too dazed to pay attention. Pedicone tasted like whiskey and something minty. This close, his skin smelled like clean soap and something uniquely _him_. It was distracting as it was reaffirming: this was really happening.

Pedicone turned them and walked towards the bed. Before he let Frank sit down, though, he unclasped his trousers and pushed them down. He wrapped his hand around Frank’s dick and— _Oh_. Frank couldn’t help a moan. He held onto Pedicone’s arms; his hips started pumping almost immediately. Pedicone’s hand was big and callused, hot and dry around him. Frank had always liked men’s hands, even before he’d realized he liked men at all. And Pedicone’s hands were perfect.

Frank pushed up on his toes and caught Pedicone in another kiss. This time, he was a more active participant. Pedicone plainly approved.

Then a hand on his chest pushed him backwards, and he yelped as he landed on the bed. Jamia gripped his shoulders tugged him back further. Pedicone brought first one knee, then the other, up onto the bed. He crawled towards Frank and bodily rolled him over and pulled him up onto his knees. Jamia moved out of the way and returned to her chair. He watched her until he couldn’t anymore — until Pedicone’s fingers in his ass distracted him too much.

He buried his face into the pillow to muffle his moans. Pedicone’s fingers were wider than Jamia’s, rougher and less gentle. Frank loved it. Pedicone took care not to hurt Frank, the way Jamia had told him some men could, but he also knew that Frank wouldn’t break, and didn’t treat him as such. He curled two fingers inside him, and there was that stretch again, the hurt-so-good stretch Frank loved to feel, even as Pedicone sent sparks shooting through his body. Frank shuddered and tangled his fingers in the bedding.

“Mike,” he gasped — sobbed. “ _Mike_ , _oh_ my—”

He groaned and writhed, trying to pull more of that delicious feeling out of Pedicone’s fingers. Pedicone worked him until Frank was sure he was going to come. His dick was leaking precome onto Jamia’s bedding, and Frank was a mess of gasps and moans.

He felt empty quite suddenly, when Pedicone slid his fingers out of Frank’s ass. He whined, and Jamia giggled breathlessly.

“You’re so eager, Frankie,” she cooed.

“Shit, yeah, he is,” Pedicone growled. The sound made Frank’s dick twitch. Pedicone shifted on the bed, then said, “Don’t you worry none, Frank. You won’t be without too much longer.”

The bed shifted a bit, and Frank took the moment of lack of stimulus to shift his arms. He wanted to brace himself a bit better, get more leverage.

Pedicone gripped Frank’s hip with one hand as he shifted behind him. The anticipation cut through Frank like a hot knife, then coiled pleasantly in his belly. He swallowed, but a sound still pushed out of his throat when Pedicone pressed the head of his dick against Frank’s hole. He gasped: Pedicone was bigger than the damned dildo, bigger than the three fingers he’d used, and it _hurt_ , hurt more than Frank had anticipated. He was slow and careful, had been generous with the oil, but the stretch was wider and it _burned_. Frank turned his face into the pillow again. Pedicone stopped moving after a moment.

“Get used to me, Frank,” he said.

His voice was ragged, strained, and Frank could feel the tremble of his thighs shaking the bed. The man was holding back — holding back for Frank. He didn’t want to hurt him. He felt Pedicone’s hand slide up the length of his sweat-slicked spine.

“Relax, Frankie,” Jamia said from her seat. Her voice was a soothing murmur. “Just breathe a minute or two.”

Frank swallowed, then turned his nose to the air again. He took several breaths, until he felt a shift inside his body. Pedicone let out a huffed breath. Then he pushed deeper in.

And that was different, that was _good_. It was wider than he was used to, fuller, but the burn had returned to that hurt-so-good Frank had never realized he’d love so much. He felt a moan slide out on his next breath. He gripped the edge of the mattress in a white-knuckled grasp. Pedicone absolutely filled him. He held still when his hips met Frank’s ass, waiting for Frank to get used to it again. Frank didn’t want to wait. Just feeling how big he was, how hot and hard inside him, had Frank wanting to feel everything he’d felt with fingers and toy. He bit his lip and swallowed, then twisted until he could look over his shoulder.

“Well?”

Pedicone gasped out a laugh. “Impatient, ain’t you?”

“Are you gonna complain?” Frank retorted.

Pedicone pulled back, then thrust in. Frank gasped loudly. Sparks shot through him, and Pedicone hadn’t even touched that spot inside him, hadn’t even _brushed_ it. Frank whined and arched his spine. It pressed his hips towards Pedicone, moved him towards that delicious, impossible feeling. Pedicone growled again; Frank felt his dick twitch, and felt his ass clench around Pedicone’s dick.

“Fuck, Frank, ain’t you somethin’ else,” Pedicone grunted.

He held onto Frank’s hips with both hands, and finally, _finally_ started to thrust in earnest. He took up a rhythm that forced Frank up onto his hands or risk running headfirst into the headboard, even despite the hold on his hips. It changed the angle, enough that Frank cried out. His arms threatened to give out at the lightning bolt of pleasure that shot through him. Pedicone pulled him close and held him there, then ground his hips in tight circles. His dick pressed almost unforgivingly against that spot. Frank shook and whimpered.

He felt like he was falling apart.

Every move Pedicone made inside him sent sparks chasing through Frank’s body. He grew tenser and tenser with each thrust, hotter and slicker. The air in the room felt humid and stank with their sex. His skin felt hypersensitive to _everything_. Frank couldn’t breathe without a moan or gasp working its way out. Each one was louder by degrees than the last, on the border of being too loud.

Pedicone doubled over him, chest against Frank’s back, and tangled his hand into Frank’s hair. With this new grip, he pulled Frank’s head back and kissed him. It didn’t silence him, but it did help to muffle the sounds he made.

Frank could feel his orgasm looming. Pedicone barely had to touch him! It was nothing like being with Jamia — while learning the trade, as it were — when she had to tease and touch every spot on his body that heated him up. All he had to feel was Pedicone moving inside him, one hand in his hair and the other looped under him to keep him close, and his stubble rasping on Frank’s skin, to keep him on the edge — too hot to think, too far gone to do more than make wordless sounds of need into Pedicone’s mouth, but _not quite there_.

Pedicone shifted the arm holding Frank up against him. He slid his hand down and wrapped his fingers around Frank’s dick. Frank let out a ragged sound. He felt like he was about to burst. All at once, every nerve in his body keyed into the touch on his erection. Pedicone used the precome that had been steadily forming at the head to slick the way, and soon was pumping him hard and fast. Frank turned his mouth into his own bicep to try to muffle the sharp sounds he now made. He could feel the pressure building and gasped Pedicone’s name in warning.

Pedicone latched his teeth onto his shoulder and sucked a bruise into his skin. Frank whimpered and bucked into his hand. He turned towards Pedicone when he felt his lips at his ear.

“You gonna come, Frankie?” he asked. His stubble rasped against his ear and jaw as he spoke, and Frank whined. “Come on, Boy. I can tell you’re close.”

He was, so very close. Pedicone didn’t stop, whispering sin into his ears and working heaven into his skin with every jerk of his hand. Frank whimpered. His eyes squeezed shut of their own accord, even as his mouth dropped open. Pedicone shifted inside him, and now, each thrust struck that amazing, wonderful spot inside him fully, sending white-hot fire through his blood. He couldn’t help an outcry.

Then he felt it.

His orgasm struck with the force of a train. His arms gave out, and he felt his balls draw up, and he came with a shout into the mattress. Pedicone straightened and continued to fuck him until his own orgasm. He brushed Frank’s spot with each thrust; it prolonged his orgasm and kept him shivering and moaning. Everything seemed hazy and distant for a time. He was aware of Pedicone falling still suddenly, of a wash of heat inside him. He let himself drift for a spell after that.

*

When he came to, it was to the feel of a warm, wet cloth on his skin. Jamia knelt over him on the bed, a fond smile in place as she wiped him down. She was still wearing only her corset and petticoats, and her hair had fallen loose from its pins. Black locks fell in loose, curly wisps around her face. She bit her lip gently as she worked. Frank found himself wondering, not for the first time, if things could’ve been different for them.

Then he reminded himself that it likely could never work between them. She seemed happy here, in her line of work and in her home. Frank couldn’t ask her to change, not when he himself couldn’t change for her. He made a small sound and shook his head, and as he stirred, she looked at him.

“Welcome back, Frankie,” she teased.

He smiled up at her. “Did I go somewhere?” he asked. His voice sounded husky and wrecked from the sounds he’d been making — from holding sounds back — and, possibly, from Pedicone fucking his mouth.

“Mmm. To the land where virgins ain’t allowed to go,” she said. She leaned down and kissed his nose. “Mike’s washin’ himself up behind the screen in the corner. Figured I’d get you a head start, since you was covered in all manner’a filth.” She winked down at him. “I know how you are about your looks.”

“You’re too kind, Miss Nestor,” he said warmly.

“I’m an old bat, and you ain’t gonna convince me otherwise,” she said with a roll of her eyes. Frank saw the blush high on her cheeks, anyway.

She was still wiping him down when Pedicone stepped from behind the screen, fully dressed.

“That was good, Frank,” he said. “That was real good.”

He pulled some money from his pocket and set it on Jamia’s dresser, but stopped by the door and looked at Frank again. He looked ready to say something, but Jamia cut him off.

“He knows, Mike,” she said. “Frankie ain’t gonna blab nothing, are you, Frankie?” She combed her fingers into his messy hair and used her grip to shake his head for him.

“I understand the concept of discretion, Sir,” he assured in a wry tone. He watched him a moment, then cleared his throat. “When are you leaving again?”

Pedicone watched him a moment, then smiled. “A few days from now.” That smile turned into a smirk. “I’ll, uh, be sure to see Jamia before I leave.”

Frank smiled back languidly. “As will I, then.”


End file.
